days like these (lead to nights like this)
by thesoundingsea
Summary: This was a prompt on tumblr that ran a little too long to put in my 'odds and ends' collection. Killian and Emma spend some well-deserved time alone on the Jolly Roger. Fluffy smut. (oneshot)


**Killian and Emma do a little stargazing, followed by some fluffy smutty activities aboard the Jolly Roger. **

**This was too long to justify putting it in my 'odds and ends' story so I'm posting it on its own. :)**

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"What about those ones?"

Killian moves closer, shifting his body on the blanket until his shoulder is touching hers, and he cranes his neck to see what she's pointing at. The sky is dark and littered with countless twinkling stars that Emma doesn't recognize, and she's picked out a cluster of four that are spaced at equal distances from each other, like a perfect square.

"Those are…" She can practically hear him thinking up an excuse, and eventually he gives up and says, "Those are unimportant. But if you look just there, love," he goes on, and he moves even closer now, so close that she can smell the salt of the sea on his skin and in his hair, mingling with the faint hint of raspberries from supper.

"That one, the line of seven stars there – do you see it?"

Emma follows where he's pointing, and eventually finds the trail of bright white stars, curving into an arc across the midnight sky.

"Yeah, I see them. What are they?"

Killian lowers his hand and says, "Those are the Seven Sisters. The souls of the first seven women who drowned at sea. After they died, the gods cursed the sea after that, made it vengeful, hungry for the blood of men. They're the reason it's bad luck to have a woman aboard a ship."

Emma shakes her head and makes a disbelieving sound in the back of her throat. "You're kidding."

When she looks over at him, he's already watching her with a mischievous hitch in his eyebrow, half-smiling at her. But she doesn't care that he's teasing her, because they're so close that when she turns her head, her nose brushes against his, and Emma's pulse quickens when he leans that much closer, rubbing his nose into hers once more before pulling away. Not an accident, a _choice_, and Emma blames the cool night air for the shiver that runs through her, because it is definitely not his simple gesture that has her trembling like she is.

He grins and says, "I'm afraid I am quite serious, love."

Emma clears her throat to steady her voice before saying, "So…what? You use them to navigate, then?"

"What? Oh, no, they're bloody useless for navigating. Most nights you can barely see them."

Emma snorted, and Killian laughed pleasantly. "If they're useless, why did you point them out to me?"

"I just like the story, Swan."

Shaking her head again, Emma tries to let her body relax. Her nerves have been getting the best of her ever since he brought the blanket out for their picnic on deck, ever since they lay down next to each other to stare up at the stars.

Hell, her nerves have been shot ever since he invited her out here. _Time to take the Jolly out for a day or two_, he had said, and Emma remembers the way his expression remained carefully neutral when he asked her to join him – they'd gone sailing before, but only for a few hours, never like _this_ – and when she said yes, his answering smile was nothing short of perfect.

Between Emma's presence being requested in council meetings almost every day, and Killian's new duties organizing the King's Royal Navy (a task he enjoys, but bitches about whenever Charming is in earshot), it has never been anything more than a handful of kisses in empty corridors and longing glances over the table at supper. This 'day or two' is the first time they've truly been alone since New York, and Emma is feeling every bit of it.

It's been a long time since she's wanted someone like this.

"Alright, what about those two?"

She points to two small but bright stars shining close together right above them, disappearing behind the mainmast every time the Jolly dips with the waves. Killian grunts and, under the pretense of not being able to see where she's pointing (at least, she assumes it's pretense, because he's suddenly very close to her, and if it's not an act then why is her heart beating so fast?), he tucks his left arm under her neck and pulls her toward him, their bodies pressed close together from shoulder to hip.

"Which two, love?"

He's radiating heat, the kind of heat that wants to burn her up – he's not even looking at her and she feels hot all over, and Emma silently hopes (in vain) that he can't feel the blush rising in her cheeks as his whiskery jaw rubs against her skin.

She's silent for too long, and when he lets out a low chuckle, Emma can _feel_ it. "Emma, darling, pay attention. Which two?"

Shaking herself, she points again, and this time he sees them right away.

_Definitely pretense._

"Ah – you _would_ choose those particular stars. Those are the Lovers."

Emma playfully swats at his free arm – the gesture backfires, and Killian catches her hand in his, rough fingers teasing her palm and his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the top of her hand.

"You're making that up." Her voice comes out like a soft breath, less than actual words, and damn her but she's falling too quickly to stop herself.

"Have you not heard the story?"

"No, I haven't, but I'm not from here, Killian."

"Still, I would have thought it was in Henry's storybook. It's rather popular."

Emma rolls her eyes and says, "Indulge me," and then gently digs her elbow into his ribs, urging him to continue. When he speaks his voice is strong, but there is a faraway sound to it like he's thinking of things he hasn't thought of in a long time.

"The Lovers were bound to the cycle of the stars, born and reborn again and again, and in every life their love brought them together. No matter how great the distance that separated them, in the end they always found each other. Until the gods of the sea and sky became jealous of their love, and they were cast into the darkness of the universe, millions of miles apart, where the gods were sure they could never find one another again."

Emma immediately thinks of _them_, but dismisses the idea because it is far too intimate a thought. "They did find each other though?"

Killian's voice is closer now, softer, and Emma can feel his breath on her cheek, so she swallows hard and tries to focus on the bright twinkle of the stars overhead instead of the way his words tickle her ear.

"Aye, that they did. They crossed the infinite ocean of stars, traveled through countless, nameless worlds to be reunited. When they were finally in each other's arms again, their love had been tested, found worthy – so the gods let them be. And before you ask, yes, _those_ stars are used to navigate."

There is a long moment of silence, and Emma sighs. "That was a good story."

She can still feel him breathing against her skin, and when she finally gathers the courage to look back at him, he is studying her face intently, his eyes tracing the curve of her cheek, the turn of her lips, the dimple in her chin.

Not an hour ago they'd been laughing as he shared stories of his life as a pirate, and now they are watching each other with that look in their eyes that only means one thing, and Emma knows that there's nothing stopping them this time, no meetings or war councils, no watchful parents lurking nearby.

This is just Emma and Killian, and the depth of his gaze and the flutter of wings in her chest, and the prospect is daunting. Now that his eyes are drifting idly over her, taking in the sight of her like they have all the time in the world, it scares her, because they _do_ have all the time in the world, and her mind is already giving her delicious ideas of how to _use_ all of those precious minutes.

"It's late," Killian says, his voice husky and low, and somehow it's that very simple, innocent phrase that undoes her. She leans forward – she barely has to move at all, he's so close – and the anxious lump in her throat is swallowed back when he meets her halfway.

His lips are warm and soft, and for a few minutes that's all it is, a patient game of learning how the other moves, waiting for silent cues to see what the other likes, figuring out what feels good. This is the longest they've ever been able to kiss without being interrupted, and he's treating it like a novelty, his hand touching her chin, his knuckles grazing over the soft skin on her throat before his hand unfolds and his callused fingers are stroking the sensitive skin behind her ear, sending a shiver down her spine as he trails rough, warm heat down her neck and over her collarbone.

They break for air, pulling apart for a moment just to breathe, and then Emma's hands are on the sides of his face and she's moving her body closer, leaning farther into him as she tilts her head to deepen the kiss. A spark ignites somewhere in her chest, and the more she kisses him, the more she soaks up his heat, the hotter that fire grows until it's only a matter of time before it consumes her. He seems content to let her take the lead, and their kiss becomes a little more passionate, a little more desperate, her tongue darting out to taste him, playing against his bottom lip as she sucks it into her mouth, and the slide of lips and tongues are only sounds she can hear above the rush of blood in her ears.

Killian is the one to pull her in the rest of the way, his left arm sliding down to her waist and hauling her on top of him as he lays on his back. She moans but the sound is muted because he won't stop kissing her, moving his head with hers so he can slide his tongue roughly against hers as he groans and runs his good hand over her back in slow, even strokes. It's getting harder to breathe and she's fairly sure she's crushing him, but she can't bring herself to care about any of that because his mouth is covering hers and he is kissing her like he wants her, like he needs her, like he loves –

Now she does break away, reveling for a moment in the sight of his lips, red and rough from kissing, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath her, and his eyes are like mirrors, reflecting the fire that is threatening to burn her. She's kindling and he's the spark and once she starts burning – once she knows what it's like to be _loved_ by him – she knows she won't be able to stop.

His eyes are fixed on hers when Emma touches his cheek, slowly running her thumb along his lower lip, and she is unable to stop a sigh from escaping when he flicks his tongue out against her skin.

"I don't know how to do this," she whispers at last, and her confession is followed by a stretch of silence that lasts a lifetime, a hollow ache blooming in her chest as she waits, hopes, _prays_ that he will say anything, something, _nothing_. After a few agonizing seconds she realizes that no matter what he says, one way or another it will break her, so she starts to lift herself off of him.

But he's quicker and stronger and he clings to her, wrapping his arms tight around her waist, effectively pinning her against him. She squirms in his arms, immediately regretting that decision because she can feel him, hot and hard even through the leather. She blushes, crazy blushing that spreads over her neck and chest, which is just ridiculous because it's not like she's never been in this situation before, straddling a man she's just been making out with…

But it _is_ different, because this time it's him.

"Emma," he says, and she can hear his unspoken plea, but she hates the way his voice is shaking and breathless because it could mean anything right now. She wants to look away, tell him she's changed her mind, made a mistake, but his expression is painfully open and honest, like he's tearing down the walls around his heart and asking her to do the same.

So she tells him the truth.

"I can't love you halfway," she blurts out, and the warm hand that's rubbing soothing circles on her back freezes. His brow furrows, his stormy blue eyes fixed on her face as she tries to find the right words because those were _not_ them.

"I don't know how…not with you. If I – if we do this, Killian, I can't just go back…"

He says her name again, and his expression softens into one of understanding and unbridled _hope_, and Emma is grateful for the darkness that obscures the blush in her cheeks when he pulls her head down to rest against his neck, holding her against him with his damaged arm, reaching up to tangle a possessive hand in her hair.

"Emma," he mumbles, bending his head close to her ear, "You're not the only one who's afraid."

His hand moves to her chin, tender but insistent as he tilts her head up toward his. She blinks and her chest is shaking because he's close, too close, and her hair forms a curtain around them, shutting out the moonlight and starlight. His hand is warm on her jaw, and everywhere their bodies are touching suddenly feels electric.

"I feel like I've loved you my whole life."

It's barely above a whisper but his words hit her like a flood, heat spreading through her chest, and that fluttering in her stomach ramps up as he raises his lips to hers. It's fast and feverish, everything it could have been but never has been, and it's everything she needs because the way they're kissing is pooling heat between her thighs, desire muting (if not completely silencing) her nervousness.

Killian kisses her breathless, waiting until she moans into his mouth before rolling them over, and Emma's leg instinctively hitches up around his hip as her hands rake up and down his back, scratching him through his shirt. He cushions her head with his hand and slowly, gently lets his hips fall against hers, lining their bodies together while he whispers her name like a promise. He drops his mouth to her neck and Emma leans her head back slightly so he can cover her throat in hot kisses, his tongue flicking out every now and then so when he moves lower it feels cold where he has kissed her, a soothing contrast to the rush of fire in her veins.

His right hand slides down her neck and comes to rest over her chest, just on the edge of impropriety, and she knows he's silently asking permission – _ever the gentleman_, she thinks with a soft smile – so she puts her hand over his and urges him on. (Gentleman he may be, but he's also a pirate, so he requires no further encouragement.) Emma's hips are moving of their own accord as he massages her breast through her clothing, a low rumble in his throat that sounds like a growl as he slides his hand lower and begins tugging her shirt from her pants, his mouth hovering over her collarbone until the soft linen is pulled free.

"Killian," she mumbles, arching into him and running her hands up and down his arms, and he groans when his fingers find her lower back, sliding over the dip of her spine and tracing it upward – Emma is glad she brought some of her own underwear from Storybrooke, because a corset would have been far too restricting right now, and she loves his surprised grunt when his hand makes it halfway up her back before meeting any resistance.

Killian lifts his head and looks at her, his thumb curling under the band of her bra.

"Swan," he says, sounding absolutely wrecked. "What is this?"

Emma holds his gaze and lifts her arms up over her head. He's all smiles now, obediently shoving her shirt up her body – with a little help from her when the left side gets caught on her elbow – and she can't help but grin at the expression on his face when he looks her over.

"I can see right through this, Emma." His eyes are dark with lust as he runs his finger along the lace edge, tracing around the shape of her nipple, the corners of his mouth turning up when she shivers. "I like it," he says.

He figures the thing out quicker than she thought he would, and tosses it over his shoulder without a second glance before descending on her breasts like a man starved. He is eager in his attention, just on the edge between too much and not enough as he works her nipples into taut peaks, rubbing his stubbled jaw over her skin until she's raking her hands through his hair in an attempt to get something more – more of this, more of him.

"So beautiful," he mumbles, half to himself and with a tone of awe and reverence in his voice that makes Emma's heart jump in her chest, leaping up toward his. His fingers are splayed over her ribs as he runs his hand down her chest, sliding over her belly to the waistband of her trousers. One finger dips down under the soft fabric and runs over her skin from hip to hip, and Emma sighs when he ducks his head and kisses a line down her stomach, flicking his tongue into her navel and then biting softly across her skin until he finds a ticklish spot.

Emma gasps and flexes every muscle in her stomach when she starts to sit up, but Killian stops her with his hand and soothing words.

"Ticklish, are we?" he laughs, rubbing his palm up and down between her breasts, moving a little higher to tease her nipple between his lips again, igniting her skin where he's touching her, and Emma lets out one heavy breath as she relaxes onto her back again. "I'll remember that for later."

He keeps his mouth on her breasts, sucking the soft flesh as he unbuttons her trousers and slowly begins to pull them down her hips. He glances down and clicks his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head. "These undergarments of yours…are they the only ones you have?"

"No…" she says, thinking for a moment that he means to take his hook to them, ready to stop him if he tries because lace panties aren't exactly common in the Enchanted Forest and she's pretty sure the royal tailors would be scandalized if she ever requested such a thing.

But Killian just groans and mutters a quick "thank the gods", and then he's urging Emma to lift her hips long enough for his hand to guide them down over the curve of her butt and the length of her thighs. Hand and hook on either side, he stops kissing her long enough to rid her of the rest of her clothing, biting at her hipbone as he drags her underwear slowly, _too fucking slowly_ down her legs, following them with soft kisses over her skin.

He sits back on his knees and pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it atop the pile of clothing behind him, and then Killian looks at her, really and truly _looks_ at her. She blushes as his eyes pay homage to every curve, searing every inch of exposed skin with his gaze, and her legs instinctively close because she's embarrassingly wet and _aching_ and he hasn't even _done_ anything yet. He runs his hand along the outside of her calf, his fingers gently coaxing her legs apart as he crawls over her, smiling when she parts her thighs with a sigh and runs her hands over his chest.

He's still smiling when she curls her fingers up around his neck and pulls him down for a brief, tender kiss. "You're too dressed," she mutters against his lips.

"Not for this, I'm not."

His eyes meet hers long enough for her to read his intent, and then he's backing away, his lips mapping their way to the juncture of her thighs, leaving behind a trail of desire that makes Emma arch her back and roll her hips in restless circles.

Killian doesn't say anything, just presses light kisses to her belly, his teeth skimming her inner thighs, and then he is _there_, so close that she can feel his breath washing over her. When he doesn't move, she whimpers and threads her fingers through his hair, not gripping _hard_ but hard enough to let him know that she needs him - in case the way she's trembling and moaning isn't evidence enough of that - and then his tongue parts her folds, licking a confident stripe along the sensitive flesh, circling around that tight bundle of nerves before taking it into his mouth and giving the faintest hint of suction. He repeats the motions again and again, over and over, his tongue delving deep so his nose brushes against her clit, until Emma is panting his name with every other breath, mad with want.

He stops long enough to say, "Let go," and then he shifts between her thighs and she feels his fingers slip inside of her, curling deliciously as he works her closer to her release. She can feel it coiling low in her belly, anxious and fragile, and it's building fast because _damn his tongue and his incredible, fantastic fingers_, and she tilts her hips to meet the thrust of his hand and the slow movement of his tongue and then yes, _yes_, _yes_. She gasps and arches up off of the blanket when it hits her, and she cries out as he moves his thumb over her, drawing out her climax, heat rushing through her body in waves as he whispers words of praise while she slowly comes back down.

Her body is still humming when he kisses her stomach and stands up to remove the rest of his clothing. Emma stretches out on the blanket, feeling deliciously awake and alive, and when it takes Killian a little too long to come back to her she groans, the furrow in her brow contrasting with the smile that tugs at her lips when she sees the look on his face, like he's just done something incredible and he's absurdly proud of himself.

"What are you grinning about?" she asks, writhing a little on the blanket as her gaze wanders over the corded muscles of his shoulders and chest, admiring the dark hair that runs from his chest to his abdomen, continuing all the way down…

"I think you know what I'm grinning about, love," he replies. Emma rolls her eyes, and she's about to say something when she feels his weight on her body again, his hard length resting on her thigh as he kisses her, hot and deep, his tongue lingering in her mouth as he surges against her, mimicking the motion of his kiss with the light pressing of his hips.

Emma moans and lifts her legs up to wrap around his waist, slowly sliding her arms around his back to hug him closer, nails scraping over the back of his shoulders, the nape of his neck. She tilts her hips when he moves against her, and when she feels his cock dragging over her clit she says his name and lifts her legs higher so she can rest her heels against his lower back.

Killian swears under his breath, harsh and bordering on angry as she rolls her hips into him again, and he brings his left arm beneath her back, forcing her to raise her body toward his. She feels his hand between her legs, and then he's slowly slipping inside of her, his cock stretching her, filling her, and when he's buried to the hilt and there's nothing between them but the bluish light of the moon and stars, Emma says it.

"I love you."

Her voice is quiet, the words spoken with an exhalation like it's instinct, and Emma barely realizes she's said it before Killian is kissing her hard, afraid the words will flee if he doesn't find a way to trap them. His body meets hers with a familiar push and pull that leaves her breathless, and Emma laughs a little as they adjust their bodies to find a comfortable rhythm, and then he's pulling her close and changing the angle, driving her into the blanket with every jerk of his hips.

Just when it's starting to feel _right_, to Emma's dismay, he stops. Her eyes shoot open, and she's about to ask him what's wrong, but before she can form the words Killian rolls onto his back, taking her with him, his stump coming to rest on her thigh and his hand gripping her hip as she settles over him.

"I want you to make love to me, Emma," he says with a slow thrust, lifting his hips and rising beneath her like the ocean.

She moans and lets her head fall back, because he's hitting her deep now, deep enough that she can feel it in her stomach, like he's sparking every nerve in her body, and when he pushes into her again she grinds down on him. Killian grunts,_loud_, and Emma's stomach twists at the sound as he sits up so he's pressed against her, and she can feel the hair on his chest rubbing over her nipples with every breath.

"Yes, Emma…_Emma_…_mmm_…just like that, darling," he says again, and she's so caught up in the sensation of his mouth on her neck and his hand on her ass and his cock deep inside of her that she's forgotten that she is the one in control now – until his hand pulls her against him, and his hips roll into hers, and he bites down on her collarbone and she realizes he's close, _painfully_ close.

"Emma, love, please…bloody _move_."

Her knees protest being used like this on the hard wooden deck, but every other part of her body is singing praises to Killian's, so she ignores it as she rides him, clinging to his shoulders and neck for leverage as she lifts herself off of him and then slowly takes him back in. He moves his thumb to where they're joined and Emma can hear him mumbling something, but she can't make out the words because she can already feel herself on the edge, his skin burning her on the outside, his cock burning her on the inside, the imagined feeling of his fingers trailing across her back as he holds her close with his damaged arm.

His forehead drops to her shoulder when he comes, his entire body arching toward hers as he pulls her into him, his voice low and broken as he tries to say her name, and it's enough to drag her over. It's almost too much, because the feeling of almost unbearable pleasure is only heightened by the pounding of her heart in time with his, the way it calls out his name as she trembles around him, and Emma thinks that she'll gladly burn if it means she can always feel like this. He curls in tighter and buries his head between her breasts, and she can feel his lips tattooing _I love you_ against her sternum as she splays her body out against his, leaning back and biting her lip as her hips ride it out as long as possible, clinging to those final blinding moments of ecstasy until there's nothing left but afterglow.

Emma slumps against him, distantly feeling him roll her on her back and slip out of her, and then he's lying next to her and pulling her against his chest, his hand in her hair and his arm resting on her hip. The air is warm and salty, and she's particularly sensitive to it as she breathes him in. She isn't afraid of being reduced to ash anymore, no longer afraid of the fire he starts in her heart because the love in his eyes, those bright, bottled-lightning irises that flash in the moonlight, tell her that he feels it, too, that he is just as lost to her as she is to him. They're both branded by the other's touch and somehow they don't fear the scars.

"How long?" he says after a while, idly stroking her hair with his fingers.

"Mmm?" She knows what he means, but her response is automatic because her brain isn't quite ready to come back to reality yet.

"How long have you loved me?"

Emma kisses his shoulder, his chest, his neck, his lips, and her body wants sleep but she lingers for a moment before lying her head back down on his chest. She feels a sense of peace and home that she hasn't felt in…well, she can't remember how long, and she wants to tell him that – she wants to tell him that she doesn't know how long it's been because she no longer remembers a time when she didn't love him, that it doesn't matter when it started because it's there now and it makes her feel whole and she's never going to let it _stop_.

Instead of saying that, she smiles and says, "It feels like I've loved you my whole life."

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**Review? ;)**


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